Sink or Swim
by Isreal Hands
Summary: Austen falls through a rip in time. He must try to survive on the HMS Surprise. He'll learn more about life and himself along the way. He hopes to figure out who he really is. BookMovie verse with my own stuff thrown in. Rating for saftey. Please R and R!
1. One Flew East

**_Sink or Swim_**

_Being the first ever fan-fic (and hopefully not the last) authored by Isreal Hands_

_A Note from the Author: As I have said, this is my first fan-fic. I've written stories in the past, but I have always been to self-critical to publish any. So, ANY criticism you may have will be very much appreciated. I am eager to see things from a second point of view. I cannot make any garuntees as to how often I will update. Then again, it seems that anyone who does makes a garuntee simply breaks it later. But I will say that I hope to post a chapter every weekday as a minimum. Well, here it is._

**Chapter One:**_ One Flew East..._

_In which the protagonist first falls (quite literally) into his curious... predicament._

_Austen Trigg _was standing stiffly at the water's edge, standing on tip-toe whenever a wave came up any further than his ankles; And he looked ridiculous. But he couldn't help himself. He was terrified, petrified of the Ocean. But not just the ocean- any body of water that was any larger than his bath tub was far too large for him; Despite the fact that he'd lived near water his whole life, he had never learned to swim. No one had bothered to teach him. His parents were far too busy working to pay any mind.

So here he was. A fourteen-year-old boy with virtually no knowledge of the Ocean, or how to swim in it standing at the edge of the Atlantic. Perhaps by now, the reader has wondered "What is he doing at the Ocean, if he's so afraid?" I shall answer. Austen, like many fourteen-year-olds, had a crush. And his crush had invited him to a party. Naturally, he accepted. But he had no idea that it was to be a boating party.

"C'mon, Austen!" yelled Cassie, the girl of his dreams. They were all waiting for him on the boat.

"Coming!" he yelled back. He clenched his fist, and stuck a foot into the icy water, squeezing his eyes shut. Nothing happened. He was still okay. He opened his eyes, cautiously optomistic. He took antoher step.

"What are you doing?!" They were all yelling. He quickened his pace, and by the time he got to the boat, the water was only waist deep. He clambered up the side of the boat, and took the towel his best friend Andrew was holding out to him.

"Everyone ready?" asked Cassies Dad.

Everyone answered, except Austen. "Yep," they all said excitedly.

"Great," her Dad said. "Let's make some waves!" And they sped off. Austen sat down quickly, next to Andrew and clamped onto the railing. They were going way fastetr than Austen would have liked.

"Hey man, you okay?" Andrew asked him.

"Yeah."

"You look like shit!"

"I'm fine," Austen snapped. He caught sight of Cassie out the corner of his eye. She was smiling at him. He smiled back, suddenley forgeting to hang on, ignorant to the fact that they were speeding along at sixty miles an hour.

Then it happened. They hit a bump, and the front of the boat- the bow, he thought it was called- went flying up into the air sending Austen hurtling through the air, and into the water. He sank like a rock.

Deeper. Deeper. Darker. He was flailing frantically, unable to find up. He quickly lost all sense on direction. His head was hammering from the inside out. His entire insides were screaming.

-air-

-_Air_-

-_**AIR**_-

Austen's muscles began to tense. He was too tired to kick. He began to sink again. Preciaous bubbles of air began to escape his lips. Suddenly, he caught a glimmer of light. He rocket towards it. But he was dying. He could feel the life leaving him, ecaping from his mouth by way of those little bubbles of air. He kept swimming, or rather flailing towards what he hoped what was the surface.

Then, a hand shot into the water, reaching downwards, trying to catch him. Austen would have sworn it was the hand of God, had he believed in that sort of thing. He was slowing. He would be sinking again, in a matter of moments.

His body seized, and incredibly, that seize was enough to propell him another foot towards that hand. He grabbed it, and felt his body lifted out of the water. He landed face down on a small jolly boat, sobbing, and choking, his body trying to take in as much air as possible, and trying to force out water at the same time.

"Boy!" came the voice of his savior, "Boy, are you alright?" it asked nervously, spinning him gently around, so that he was facing upwards again.

He managed a brief nod, choked for another moment, and was finally able to stop. He breathed heavily. He managed a hoarse "Thanks," before he fell back, exauhsted.

When he next awoke, he was in a dark cabin. He could make out two figures talking anxiously together. Austen could only make out part of what they were saying.

"...Spy-"

"Come now... Jack... Spy... Ridiculous-"

"-...Certain-"

Austen stopped listening when he recognized the two men. The first, the one who obviously suspected Austen of being a spy, was none other than Captain Jack Aubrey. His companion, Stephan Maturin.

This was _**SO NOT POSSIBLE**_! But obviously it was, because Austen could see them. His hammering head told him he was not dreaming. He looked down at himself. His clothes were ones he'd never seen before. And then the most bizzare fact yet came crashing down on him. If this was truly happening, then he, Austen Trigg, was in the early 1800's. Weird.

He shook, the thought gave him the willies. He was surprised to realize that he was not panicking. He was shaky, yes. But he wasn't really freaking out at all. He stayed quiet. After a minute, Jack noticed that Austen had woken up. He stopped mid-sentence, and nudged Stephen, then tilted his head towards Austen. Stephen spun around, and together, the approached him. _Now_ he was freaking out._ What the hell was going on?_

His panic must have been visible, because Maturin said "Don't worry. We only want to talk. The man who rescued you said that you spoke English. I am Doctor Stephen Maturin, and this is the Captain of the ship you are on- Captain Jack Aubrey." His words took along time to get to him, as though they had to travel a long distance. He could hardly hear over all the racket his head was making.

He tried to sit up, he felt like a fool lying there on some sort of table. When he did, Austen felt a whole knew level of pain shoot through his skull, and he brought his hand to his head. What he felt was not bare skin, but a large bandage; He must have smashed his head on the boat when he was pulled out of the water. He compromised by leaning on his arm. He held out his hand for wither of them to shake. "My name is Austen Trigg," he managed.

The Captain shook first, with a firm grip. To Austen, it felt like all the bones in his body rattled around as the two shook hands. Then the Doctor, with the same firm grip, but with a much more gentle, careful shake.

"Now then," sad the Captain, getting right down to business. "We've got a few questions for you, Mr. Trigg."


	2. One Flew West

**_Sink or Swim_**

_Being the first ever fan-fic (and hopefully not the last) authored by Isreal Hands_

_A Note from the Author: Thanks to Mercury Gray- my only reviewer. I am so happy that you took the time to read my story and to share your thoughts. Everything you said made complete sense- and I will try to keep everything on mind when I am writing. Also, I have- as of yet- not met my chapter a day quota. Well, as it ends up I was given a surprise vacation to Lake Chataqua as a birthday gift, so I have not been able to access a computer until today. So with out further delay, here is chapter two._

**Chapter Two:**_ One Flew West..._

_In which the protagonist is asked many questions, meets many sorts of people, and is the subject of many mixed opinions._

_"Questions?" asked_ Austen, groggily.

"Yes," said the Captain. "Now that we know you're name, we'd like to know where you come from."

Austen was silent. "Here- sort of," he said. It wasn't quite the truth, but he _had_ come from a boat... or, at least, that was the last place he'd been before he was where he was now. And after all, he couldn't very well say he was from the future. Austen added hastily, at the Captains disbelieving look. "I wasn't born here, I moved here recently."

Aubrey took 'here' to mean 'England.' "And how, in God's name, did you end up in the ocean?"

Austen waited a very long time before answering. He chose his words very carefully. He decided the worst thing he could do was lie. One lie would inevitably lead to even more lies, and he was dealing with some very intelligent men. One slip could mean the death of him. "I don't know," he said. It was the safest answer he could have come up with, with his senses still so clouded.

"You've no idea, what so ever?"

"That is the state of things," he said. It was a bit more cheek than would have been wise, but Austen was exhausted and the merciless pounding in his forehead was angering him, more than anything.

"Is anyone looking for you?"

A pause. "I don't know."

The Captain was getting exasperated. Doctor Maturin took over. "Is there a port we can take you to, or anyone who might be waiting for you somewhere?"

"...No... I don't think so."

"Excuse us, won't you?" asked the Captain, as the two men stepped away once more. It hadn't been a question. Even if it had, Austen wouldn't have objected- all he wanted was to sleep.

They resumed their hushed conversation. Try as he might, Austen could not shut out their voices. He wished more than anything that he could. That he could have some peace and quiet. "Well?" asked Jack.

"He was careful in his answers-"

"Ah," said Jack gravely. "So he is a -"

"No, he is not a spy. He was careful, but as far as I am aware careful is not the same thing as deceitful."

"You have a point- and besides, he can hardly be older than Blakeney... I trust the French have better spies than a thirteen-year-old boy."

"Besides, dear, I hardly think he could manage to slip anything past us. All of his mail will go through us, if indeed there is any mail to censor at all. And you must also consider, for joy that there are nearly two-hundred of us and only one of him."

"Very well, Stephen. Once again, you have managed to set my mind at ease. We shall watch him, and continue our discussion when we have shed more light on the matter."

Without another word, the two men clambered up the steps, and out of sight. For a moment, the piercing light from above shone bright through the cabin, and Austen shut his eyes tightly. But then the light was gone, and he was left in peace in the humid, thick, and yet soothingly quiet sick bay. Within moments, Austen had lost himself in a dreamless sleep.

He awoke with a start. He felt rested, and his head felt much better than it had the last time he was awake. He turned his head. Austen was in a different room than before, and he was in a hammock now. Sitting across the room at an extremely cluttered desk was the Doctor. "What is the Acheron?" he asked a Austen.

"What?" he asked.

"The Acheron. You've been asleep for two days now, and you haven't stopped muttering about it." There was no suspicion in his voice. Simply curiosity. But Austen was alarmed. He hadn't even known he was dreaming. What if he had said more than the Doctor was letting on?

"Oh," Austen said. But that was it. He waited a minute, then decided to change the subject. "What is today?"

"April- the 13th, if I'm not mistaken... and I'm not," he chuckled softly. "It is still early morning."

"Oh," he said again.

Stephan laughed in his own, strange way.

"What's funny?" Austen asked grouchily. He was in no mood to be laughed at.

"This is your third day on the Surprise, and you have managed to say little more than "I don't know," "Acheron," and "Oh." He laughed again- an odd, high pitched noise.

Austen was about to say "Oh," but caught himself. "I guess I never really thanked you for saving me." His voice came out harsh and hoarse- the salt from the ocean was stuck in his throat.

"Oh, no thanks required- it is my job to save people if I can. Besides, all I did was bandage your head, which has begun to heal nicely," Austen felt his forehead. It was still bandaged, but it did not hurt quite as much to touch it. He tried sitting up, and found that it caused him no pain. "It was our coxswain, Barret Bonden, who rescued you from the ocean."

Austen vaguely remembered being pulled from the water. Suddenly his stomach grumbled. After two days without food, he felt like he could've eaten anything and everything aboard- sails and all.

"Come," said Stephen. "We will find you something to eat. No doubt you could use it."

Austen half hopped, half thrashed out of his hammock. He stood for a second, teetered slightly, and then collapsed. Embarrassed and flushed, he climbed back onto his feet, held firmly by the arm by Stephen. "I've never really been on a ship before," Austen explained.

"Then walking will take some getting used to. Do not be embarrassed, it happens to everyone- especially when they have not eaten it two days."

"Thanks." Austen started climbing up the stairs, holding tightly to the railing, the Doctor close behind, should he stumble and fall backwards. They reached the deck without any mishaps, and the Doctor resumed his place at Austen's side.

"The galley is this way," said Stephen. Austen felt his toes clench in his shoes, in an effort to keep steady.

Austen dined on plenty of fresh fruit- the Doctor was not satisfied until he had seen him eat three limes and an orange. He also had a large cup of fresh water- and had never appreciated more than he did now; and some hard bread, which Stephan called hard tack.

Stephen asked Austen if he thought he could manage on his own now- Austen replied that he could, and now, he was alone on the deck. He looked around himself.

It was very quiet. It was indeed still very early in the morning though was difficult to tell through all the fog if it could really even be considered morning yet. The sky was dark, cloudy and looked so much like the night sky, that the ship still had lanterns hanging around. It was chilly too.

Austen could recognize Calamy and Hollum up on the quarter deck. They were talking quietly, and being watched by various members of the crew. Enexpectedley, Calamy shouted "We shall beat to quarters!"

Almost spontaneuosly, people spang into action, this way, that way. Some rushing below, others coming up- it was madness, and yet, in a strange way it all seemed organized. The unfamiliar pounding of feet on the deck was thunderous to Austen's ears. He pressed himself on to the side of the ship, for fear of being trampled. Then, the Captain appeared on deck, speaking rapidly with the officers, and then scanning the horizon with his spy-glass.

Austen's heart missed a few beats. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. His breathing became shallow- he had realized what was happening. He began to panick. What should he do?

He had to find a way to stop what was happening from happening. He couldn't tell anyone. They'd think he was crazy. They wouldn't listen. And then when he was right, they would all hate him- think him a spy.

And then he was filled with a rage so deep that it actually scared him- rage towards himself. He was always getting himself into trouble because he was worried about what other people thought about him. That was how he had gotten into this mess in the first place- he had went boating against his better judgement, knowing full well that he could do nothing to save himself if something were to go wrong. And now, he passed up the opportunity to help a ship load of people- who he already owed his life to- just because he was afraid they'd think he was crazy.

Then it happened. It was too late to help. He had stood by and let it happen. He was a murderer. Deafening noise, as splinters 10 inches long hurtled through the air. Over and over the ship was hit. Austen was on the ground, sobbing. His limbs were scraped, and bleeding freely, but that was not the reason he cried. He cried because he hated the way he was.

He bit his lip, and forced himself to calm down. He couldn't do anything, lying there in his pool of self hatred- and what was worse, self pity. He slammed his fists on the deck, and forced himself to his legs. He had been unable to stop this whole mess, so he would try at least to help some of the men he'd as good as comdemned with his silence.

To his right, a man lay face down on the deck. Austen flipped him cautiously, so that he was facing upward, and almost threw up on the man- his stomach was a bloody pulp, and a 5 inch long splinter had found a home in his forhead. Austen couldn't decide what was worse: The injury, or the fact that he might have had the chance to stop it from happening- and hadn't.

Austen bit his lip again and bent down. The man was still alive, but wether he would be for long was the question. Austen had hoped to be able to carry the man over his back, but he was afraid that if he did, it would make the gaping hole in his stomach even worse. So with a grunt, Austen hoisted the man in the air- able only to use his arms as a support base. Austen was terriefied of dropping the man, so he moved quickly.

The man was heavy. Austen had only gone about ten steps when his arms started to ache. Austen bit harder on his lip- and cut it. He was now loosing blood from his head, and all four of his limbs. The dried blood on his clothes mixed with that of the man he carried. At last he made if to the sick bay, when he dropped the man off at te nearest hammock, Austen's presence entirley unnoticed. Austen hardly cared, he was not doing this for recognition- and besides if he had been noticed, someone surley would have made him stop, or at least offer to help. He had to do this himself.

Man, after man. Austen made trip, after trip down to the sick bay- never stopping. It seemed to him that the cannons would never stop exploding- and that the ringing in his ears would only continue to grow louder, never stopping until he ran mad. His back ached and his knees felt ready to crush each time he carried a new man- and to Austen the pain was so un-dying, so excruciating that it almost seemed natural- like he had been feeling it all along. He couldn't remember a time when his eyes didn't sting with sweat. In fact, he could not remember anything. It was simply pick up, carry down, drop off, climb up- and all the while, deathly afraid of dropping some one.

He never stopped biting his lip, though now it was cut, and briused to the point of numbness. Towards the end of his work his whole body had become numb. It was like living outside of yourself. And now Austen relished the pain that had brought him to this state, when he could not feel, could not die.

It was quiet above decks. And though he could not have known it, the effects of adrenaline were wearing off- and quickly.

And then, on his way out of the sick bay, he felt like he was trying to wade through water. Suddenley he slowed... stopped. Why was he in so much pain? He tried to remember. Had he been in an accident? He must have been. He felt like he'd been hit by a train. But then he should get to a hospital. He looked around.

Oh, good! He was already in a hospital. How clever of him, to have thought to come here so quickly. He was glad to see that even after being hit by a train he could think clearly enough to get himself to a hospital.

He walked up to a man he could not recoginze. Then again, how was he supposed to recognize him? It occured to Austen that the man in front of him had a very blurry face. "Excuse me, sir," said Austen in a drunken voice. Austen giggled. Why did he sound so funny? "But I need to check in, because I've been hit by a train."

Things got very fuzzy after that. People seemed to think that he was named Delirious. He kept trying to tell them all that his name wasn't Delirious, it was Austen- and that he thought Austen sounded much better.

Soon, everyone must have stooped talking all together, because it was deathly quiet- and they must have put out all the candles too, because it was pitch black. And then, Austen was delighted to find that he no longer needed to think.

He could just be, he could just lie there, in the hospital with the blurry faced people and relax- which was good because he was tired. Austen marveled at how tired being hit by a train could make you.

One thing, that he decided to himself as he drifted off to sleep, was that it was a good idea to never get hit by a train again.


End file.
